The worst thing about being sick with some sort of bronchial nastiness when you're five months pregnant is that by this time your asophagus has given up and left you stranded, asophagus-less. In the matter of keeping the contents of your stomach where they belong, the only thing you have going for you is gravity, which is thwarted by your violent coughing. Everyone wants to join in with the party in your throat. You cough and throw up, cough and throw up. It's amazing. Even better when you're lying in your bed, trying to get some rest.

The worst thing about burning yourself when you're already way too big and pregnant to be real is that you'll be nursing your burnt finger (water from the spaghetti pot-- you don't have a colander, so you do the old pot lid strain trick, perilous even when you have all your wits about you) while sitting in the swing chair and you realize that you really need some aloe vera and you know there's an aloe plant in the back yard but you can't get out of the swing chair, so you try to instruct your 10 year old on what the aloe plant looks like in the dark, and you're sitting, stuck in the swing chair, shouting instructions through the closed window. "No! Not that one! The other one! Behind you!!! Behinnnnnd youuuuu!"

You can't smell anything, you feel like you've been run over by a truck, and unmentionable parts of you are sore and not cooperating because of pregnancy. Also, today was grumpy day of everyone's sickness. (You know, there's sad pitiable days and then there's grumpy day, when everyone is starting their convalescence, but in this really whiny, annoying way.)

But at the end of the day, stuck in the swing chair, you realize that you didn't speak any words that were too harsh, you mostly kept your cool, and when you check your heart, it is chock full of love for them all. You'll be okay.